


Feather

by threetimes_charm



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Temporary Character Death, prompto gets hurt a lot, the astrals are assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 14:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16834222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threetimes_charm/pseuds/threetimes_charm
Summary: Every time Prompto Argentum has used a phoenix down in chronological orderORPrompto Argentum once told Bahamut to fuck off and lived to tell the story





	Feather

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in a long looong time, but this game was so good that it dragged me out of the depths and shoved a blank word doc into my hand. So. Here I am. Late to the fandom. Bringing my offerings. Hope you enjoy!

**one.**

**  
** Prompto was so numb with shock the first time he died, he didn’t know what he was seeing. The only thing he managed to make out before the phoenix down yanked him back into the land of the living was a huge face, ten stories tall but indistinct, like he was staring through fog or glasses with too strong of a prescription.  
  
He asked Noctis later if he’d ever had to use a phoenix down.  
  
Once, Noct had said.  
  
And he hadn’t seen a giant face. He hadn’t seen anything at all.

  
**two.**

  
The second time Prompto died they were in a grassy field in Duscae. They were fighting MTs, which was tedious but not difficult, and the possibility of dying never even crossed his mind until he turned around and found an MT blade sinking into his gut.  
  
This was probably an embarrassing way to go, he thought, as he slid to the ground, the world going dark around him and the sound of Noct screaming his name fading into silence.

And then he was there again. Awash in grey ether and suspended in the middle of nothing, surrounded by a quiet so dense that it was as if sound ceased to exist.  
  
A form overshadowed him, so massive that it stretched up and out of his field of vision. It stood out in sharp relief of the void around them, so vivid, so real that almost hurt to look at. He looked anyway, blinking against the discomfort to squint at the angelic shape clad in armor that looked like it was made of stars.  
  
Enormous, steely eyes gazed out from beneath a four-horned helm, fixated on something beyond him with cold disinterest. The being didn’t move or speak, but Prompto knew it was alive, more alive than he had ever been. It knew he was there, too— he could feel it. It did not care.  
  
“Who are you?” Prompto asked.  
  
His words were strange in his mouth, and though he could not hear them, he knew they’d been spoken. The being remained motionless, eyes fixed ahead, ignoring him.  
  
Prompto suddenly felt heavy. Streaks of orange flame shot out of the ether and began to encircle him, burning into him and dragging him away.  
  
Still, the giant face did not react.  
  
“Who… are you?” Prompto shouted, but his words were strangled, and like a rock hurled into a stream, he was back on Eos.

_“Prompto!”_ Noct was slapping his cheek, and it stung.  
  
Prompto snapped his eyes open, saw the grassy field and the blue sky and the relief flooding Noct’s pinched face. Noct’s hands were bloody, and his engine blade lay discarded, three feet away. Behind him, the MT that had stabbed Prompto sprawled on the ground in two pieces.  
  
“Dude, you gotta be more careful,” Noct said, his face drawn into a worried frown. He held out a hand, and Prompto took it, letting Noct tug him to his feet.  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“All right?” shouted Ignis from across the field.  
  
“All right!” Prompto called back, and summoned his gun.

  
**three.**

  
Fighting a giant, bloodthirsty devil bird at the top of a mountain turned out to be just as awful as Prompto thought it was going to be. The zu was huge, and even though they could see its attacks coming from a mile away, there was nowhere to run. They were eating through their curative stash like it was candy on Lovers’ Day. Noct was faring better than the rest of them since he could warp, but the magic seemed to be wearing on him and he was starting to flag, too.  
  
—Which was probably why he clipped the beast’s wing on his next pass and was sent sprawling to the ground. Ignis yelled for Noct to move, but the zu had already picked Noct for its next target and flapped after him, jaws snapping. All Prompto could think about was how one chomp of that massive beak could boot you into the next life so hard you’d reincarnate as a teenager, so he ran closer and raised his gun without thinking, firing wildly at the creature’s eye. At least a couple of bullets connected, because the zu screeched in rage and turned from Noct to him.  
  
Crap.  
  
Prompto was far too close. He didn’t even get a chance to turn before the bird’s gigantic talon came down.

“I figured out who you are,” Prompto said, once he’d oriented himself in the Grey Place and found himself staring at the armored form again.  
  
The form was as silent as before. Prompto could see his eyes roving, tracking whatever it was he was staring at past Prompto.  
  
“You’re Bahamut. I recognized you from Cosmogony.” It occurred to him that talking to a literal Astral like this was probably sacrilege. Prompto had always kinda sucked at the religion stuff. “Your, uh… Holiness.”  
  
If Bahamut was offended, he did not show it. There wasn’t even a flicker of change on his face. Prompto wondered if the Astral could hear him.  
  
“Noct’s already got a blessing from Titan and Ramuh. Hopefully we’ll meet you soon, too.” Prompto cleared his throat. “You know, if you like… want to.”  
  
Fire began to wrap around Prompto’s torso, and he felt like he was burning alive. Phoenix down. Relief flooded him, and he closed his eyes as he felt himself pulled back.

“Come on, back with us, kid.” Gladio’s voice was rough, and so was the hand shaking him.  
  
Prompto jolted and opened his eyes, fingers instinctively curling around his gun.  
  
“Hey, with me!” A pair of fingers snapped in front of his face and he saw fear drain from Gladio’s expression as he looked up at him. “You okay?”  
  
The zu was screeching bloody murder, and Prompto could see the blue of Noct’s magic and the sparks of Ignis’ sagefire a little bit away. He could still feel the bird’s talons crushing his ribcage, lingering phantom pain from the blow that killed him, but that’s not what Gladio had asked. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he said. “Right back at ‘em!”  
  
He took Gladio’s hand up, dusted off the front of his shredded shirt, and took aim.

 **  
** **four.**

  
He was in trouble. He knew it already.  
  
Prompto had turned the speargun back toward the rooftops of Altissia’s shore front as soon as he’d gotten Noct close enough to warp to Leviathan, but he’d been far enough away that he’d had to aim the vehicle’s harpoon at the closest rooftop he could find. Which just so happened to be a rooftop full of imperial snipers. And now the harpoon release was jammed and he couldn’t get it loose to redirect, so his options were a rooftop of imperial snipers or making a jump for it and hoping the troopers below were a little bit nicer.  
  
He peered down at the pavement below to weigh his chances, but the impact of a bullet slamming into his shoulder knocked him backwards and made his choice for him. He lost his grip on the speargun and plummeted into the ocean with a scream.  
  
The waves, churning and swirling from Leviathan’s wrath, pulled him under and for a terrifying moment, he thought he was going to drown. But he’d fallen near the docks, where the water was less deep and he was able to flail his way to stairs with his one good arm. He reached the base of the steps and gripped the edge with white-knuckled fingers, gasping for breath.  
  
He looked back. Streaks of blue littered the sky, testament to the magic of the Lucian kings. He could just barely see Noct, zipping in and out of the waves and Leviathan’s thrashing fins.  
  
“…to? Where the hell did you run off to? Prompto!”  
  
Prompto reached up and tapped his earpiece, which was somehow miraculously still functioning after being submerged in seawater. “Sorry. I’m here now.”  
  
Gladio didn’t sound too happy. “We need to go now. Head to the rendezvous. We’ll meet you at the bridge.”  
  
Ignis’ voice crackled through, grim. “Hurry.”  
  
Prompto’s shoulder ached. “Roger.”  
  
No time to lose. Gladio and Ignis were waiting for him. He lugged himself onto the stairs and stumbled to his feet, grabbing his gun out of the Armiger and staying low to the ground. He poked his head up above street level to map out his next move. Magitek troopers had the street surrounded, but maybe if he could edge off around the side…  
  
He spotted his opening far to the right, where three MTs were planted at the entrance to an alley that led down a canal. There were at least two dozen more stationed on the street. He’d have to make a run for it. He ducked down behind the stairwell again and switched his gun from his right to his left hand, trying to calm his hammering heart.  
  
_Come on, Prompto, don’t fuck this up._  
  
Time to go. He drew in a deep breath and dove out of the stairwell, gun raised. They saw him almost instantly, but didn’t start firing until he was almost halfway to the alley. He ducked, aimed at the MTs in his path, and pulled the trigger, taking them out one by one before sprinting into the cover of the passageway. The MTs stationed on the street were following him now, and bullets pinged off the stone walls of the buildings around him. He felt one sink into his arm, but the adrenaline surging through him numbed the pain and he kept running.

The walkway took a sharp left ahead, the way forward dropping off into one of the city’s endless canals. Prompto put on a burst of speed and vaulted over the metal railing, and into the water. He stretched his crappy swimming skills to the limit as he clawed his way over to the steps on the other side, trying to stay under the surface as best he could. As soon as his fingers touched the stairway, he was pulling himself up, scrambling to find purchase on the slimy stone.

A bullet hit the stair near his head and glanced off, and he launched himself up to street level, heart pounding, scanning for an escape. There was a side street he could take to break the line of sight twenty, maybe thirty feet away. He took off, not looking back.

One.

Two.

Three.

One bullet lodged in his side, two landed square in his back. He staggered and fell and couldn’t get his hands out in front of him in time, and bashed his head on the cobblestone as he went down, leaving a red, bloody smear.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

He pushed himself up, but pain tore through him and his arms gave out. He fell back to the ground, coughing wetly and trying to blink back the darkness encroaching his vision. Not good.

 _no way no way please no come on_  
  
He wasn’t going to make it. If he could just get around the corner…

He threw his hands out in front of him and dragged himself forward, forcing his legs to push his weight along. Distantly, he could still hear the sounds of gunshots behind the rushing in his ears, but he focused on the street ahead of him. The pain was blinding. Or maybe he was crying, he couldn’t tell.

Ten feet. Just ten.

Five.

One.

Prompto crawled around the corner and collapsed, choking on the blood in his mouth. His limbs were heavy. Darkness was pulling him under. He groped for the feather he knew was in his right pocket, closing sticky fingers around it and drawing it up to his chest. With the last of his strength, he snapped the feather in two and prayed to whichever of the Six that was listening that he wouldn’t die for good this time.

  
  
Bahamut did not stir from his vigil, but by now, Prompto didn’t expect anything else. He looked around for any tell-tale sign of orange flame coming to drag him back to Eos, but there was nothing.  
  
“Come on,” he muttered. “Come on!”  
  
Bahamut’s gaze shifted to the other side of Prompto, missing him completely. Prompto stared up at him desperately. “Leviathan… She’s not gonna kill Noct, right?”  
  
No answer. Prompto could feel panic rising.  
  
“I can’t die. I gotta get back.”  
  
There was still no sign of the phoenix down.

“There’s so many dropships. I don’t know if we can fight them all.”  
  
Bahamut did not move.  
  
“Help us. Please. Help Noct. And Lady Luna.”  
  
No response.  
  
“Please!”

It was as if he didn’t even exist. The Grey Place swallowed his words, leaving him gutted.  
  
Just as he spoke, flame roared into existence and devoured him whole.  
  
Bahamut didn’t even seem to notice.

Prompto came back with strangled inhale and the burning in his veins didn’t feel any better than dying. He was covered in blood, but the bullet holes were gone, so that at least was a good sign. His com was buzzing with static and he could hear Ignis talking to him.

“Prompto. For Shiva’s sake, Prompto, answer your com! Are you all right?”

Prompto lifted a tingling finger to his ear. He was not all right. Neither was Noct. Neither was anyone. Nothing was even remotely all right.

But that’s not what Ignis was asking.

“Prompto, come in—”

“Hey, sorry!” Prompto answered a little too loudly. He swallowed. “I’m okay, just got sidetracked. There’s a lot of MTs. I’m almost there! Don’t leave without me.”

“Hurry up!” Gladio growled.

“On it.”

“Thank the Six,” he heard Ignis mutter, almost inaudibly.

Prompto got to his feet shakily. He pulled the handkerchief off his arm and used it to mop the blood off his face as best he could.

He didn’t think they had anything to thank the Six for.

He didn’t tell Ignis that.

He ran.

  
**five.**

  
“You’re looking a tad peaked.” Noct twirled the phoenix feather he’d found in Prompto’s pocket between his index finger and his thumb.  
  
Prompto kept his head down and didn’t respond, because he’d learned that talking back just made everything worse. Instead, he focused on breathing, though every gulp of air felt like swallowing shards of glass.  
  
“Oh, come now. Don’t be like that. This isn’t personal, you know.”  
  
Prompto was trembling, and he hated it. His arms were past the point of giving out, but from the way they were stretched, he had to maintain some amount of pressure or he risked his shoulders popping out of joint again. He was pretty sure hanging from dislocated shoulders once in his entire life was more than enough and he never needed to experience it again.

“ _I_ don’t care what happens to you.” Noct smirked. “Actually, now that I think about it, neither does he. And your other friends— they were just tolerating you for his sake, weren’t they?” He paused a moment and faced Prompto with an air of puzzlement. “My dear lad. Does _anyone_ care?”

“Leave me alone,” Prompto mumbled. The words just slipped out— he couldn’t stop himself. Noct’s demeanor shifted instantly, and he suddenly looked like how he’d been on the train.

“Leave you alone?” he repeated in a dangerous murmur. He stepped closer, his face twisted into a look of disgust that hurt more than the bloody cuts in Prompto’s skin, the bruises, the broken ribs and fingers, the swollen eye he couldn’t see out of anymore. Then his lip curled and he spat, straight into Prompto’s face. “What, like you left me alone?”

“You’re Ardyn,” Prompto whispered. The spittle trickled down from his eyes, burning the gashes on his nose and cheek and jaw.

Noct made a sound like a hiss. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for you.”

“Shut up. _Shut up._ ”

“No, you shut up! All you ever do is whine. I'm sick of it. I wish you were dead.”

Prompto’s eyes were stinging and the knot growing in his throat was suffocating him. “Stop.”

“Why do you think I pushed you off the train? Even _he’s_ better than you.” Noct leaned close, and Prompto saw the glint of something metal. He barely had a chance to register the malice in Noct’s eyes before he said, “Well, better late than never,” and plunged a knife into his chest.

The hush of the Grey Place coupled with the abrupt cessation of physical pain was almost overwhelming. Prompto floated in the empty, shivering and feeling hollowed out, like someone had scooped everything out from inside him and all that was left was nothing but an empty husk.

Bahamut loomed over him, cold eyes still ever fixed on some space far out of his sight.

“I thought you were on our side,” Prompto said, after a long silence.  
  
Bahamut as always, did not answer.  
  
“You were supposed to help us. But you didn’t.”  
  
Pissing off an Astral was probably the worst thing that Prompto could do right now. He kept talking anyways. “Leviathan almost killed Noct. Lady Luna died. Iggy’s blind. You don’t care, do you?”  
  
Bahamut didn’t care.  
  
“It doesn’t matter. Noct will get your damn Crystal back. We’ll get Insomnia back. Everything will turn out fine. No thanks to you.”  
  
A spiral of phoenix fire shot through the grey and straight through his heart, pulling him out from under Bahamut’s shadow. Prompto let it consume him.

When he opened his eyes, Noct was there in front of him dusting feather ashes off his fingers with a sick grin on his face.

“Just kidding,” he said in Ardyn’s voice. “But oh, if you could have seen the look on your face.”

Prompto closed his eyes and tried not to say anything else.

  
**six.**

They stayed at Zegnautus for two weeks after the crystal took Noct away.

The first week was absolute misery. Ardyn had somehow vanished without a trace or an injury on him even after Gladio had taken a swing at him and Prompto had shot him _,_ and he’d left behind hordes of daemons that swarmed out of the floor and prevented them from chasing him down. The three of them had retreated into the Crystal room, barricaded the entrance with crates and broken machinery they’d found outside, and huddled by the Crystal to wait for Noct.

But Noct didn’t come back. Not after an hour, or a day, or three days. Not after a week.

They took turns keeping watch and sleeping and eating meager rations of whatever was left of their food supply. Gladio ran drills and pretended not to be on the verge of hurling someone over the railing and into the pit. Ignis threw himself into the task of learning to sew without sight, pretending unconvincingly to be fine when he was more gloomy than Prompto had ever seen him. Prompto eventually stopped trying to start conversations with either of them and pretended they weren’t talking to each other behind his back in hushed tones about the way he woke up screaming from nightmares.

On the eighth day, Gladio announced gruffly that sitting on their asses would get them nowhere and dragged Prompto out into the halls to see if they could get a radio signal going from one of the Keep’s communication rooms. Prompto knew by the look on Ignis’ face before they left that even if they were able to get a message out, they shouldn’t expect anyone to answer.

On day eleven, Ignis and Gladio got into an argument over whether they should leave the Keep and return with help, or stay and wait for Noct to come back from the Crystal. It was the first time Prompto ever heard Gladio insult Ignis, or Ignis raise his voice in anger.

They couldn’t carry the Crystal out with them, that much they all knew. It was far too heavy for even the three of them to lift, much less carry while fighting off daemons all the way out of Gralea. Ignis said they needed to get help. Gladio refused to leave without Noct. Ignis refused to leave Gladio in the Keep on his own.

Prompto didn’t have anything to say, so he sipped on his water bottle to keep his stomach from growling too loudly and settled in a corner by the door.

That was likely why the movement near the Crystal caught his eye first. Before even thinking, he was on his feet, gun in hand, water bottle discarded and splashing through the grate into the abyss below. In a blink, Gladio’s sword was out, as were Ignis’ daggers.

“What?” Ignis demanded. “What is it?”

“It’s…” Gladio trailed off and lowered his sword.

“It’s Umbra,” Prompto finished for him, letting his gun drop back into the Armiger and starting towards them.

As he approached, Umbra trotted away from the Crystal and towards Ignis, stopping at the advisor’s feet and nuzzling his palm. Ignis released his daggers and patted the dog’s head, a look of confusion knotting his forehead. “What…?”

Umbra turned away and shuffled to Gladio, pawing at his pant leg until Gladio crouched down next to him.

“Gladio?” Ignis asked.

“He’s just... looking at me,” Gladio answered. “Dunno if he wants something, or--”

Umbra turned again and padded back to the Crystal, circled round his tail once, then curled up in front of it. He rested his head on his paws, staring up Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto in turn.

“What is he--” Ignis began impatiently.

“He’s protecting Noct.” Gladio sounded like he’d been punched in the gut.

Prompto knelt in front of Umbra, rubbing the dog’s belly for a second before reaching towards the Crystal. Umbra growled softly, baring his teeth. Prompto let his hand drop and Umbra began licking it almost immediately. “He won’t even let me near it.”

“I think he wants us to go,” Gladio murmured, aggrieved.

In the end, they did leave. Umbra remained planted in front of the Crystal, growling softly if any of them came too close to it, and there was nothing else for them to do. They packed their sleeping bags, whatever was left of their food supplies, and their weapons back into the Armiger and left the Crystal room behind, sealing it shut with the access granted by the barcode on Prompto’s arm.

They hurried through the winding hallways of the Keep in silence, not speaking to each other unless it was absolutely necessary. Throngs of daemons and malfunctioning MTs began to rise from the floor as soon as they left the Crystal room, and Prompto hurled himself into the fray, firing his gun until his ears rang so that he wouldn’t have to think. With Noct not there, their battle rhythm was thrown, which only added to the slip-ups resulting from exhaustion, lack of nutrition, and old wounds. They were barely scraping by, and they were forced to stop several times to fight off a horde just so that they could flee. Prompto tightened his fingers around the grip of his gun and used the grief and anger inside him as fuel to keep going.

They were nearly to the edge of complex when the Foras attacked out of nowhere, taking Prompto by surprise.

There was a shout from behind him, and the hiss of more daemons crawling out of the floor, but it was too late for him to react. He knew he was dead the instant the daemon’s claw pierced through his heart. He knew what he was going to see.

Rush, silence, grey. Bahamut staring past him, silent, cold.

"Give him back," Prompto said.  
  
Bahamut was unmoving. There was no sound, no indication that he had been heard. But Prompto knew he had.  
  
“Give him back!” He was yelling, voice raw, but he didn’t care.  
  
Bahamut was a statue.  
  
Prompto felt rage filling him, white hot, like a surge of electricity. “You know what? Fuck you. Fuck off.”  
  
The words felt good in his mouth, even as he felt a phoenix down pulling him back into the other realm. They felt deserved. They felt like the bitterness and anger and fear and unfairness of everything in his life taking the form of a verbal barb that ultimately did no damage and probably didn’t do him any favors either, but he was already dead and _damn_ did it feel like he deserved this one moment of fury.  
  
“Fuck. You.” he repeated, this time looking directly up into Bahamut’s blurry, towering eye. “FUCK Y—”

He was back.  
  
“Prompto,” Ignis’s grip on his arm was firm, and his voice was weary, but concerned.  
  
“I’m fine,” Prompto responded automatically and reloaded his gun.

**seven.**

It should have been fine.

The detour to the destroyed Taelpar outpost shouldn’t have taken as long as it did. There shouldn’t have been a yojimbo roaming the floors of the old fueling station, or a nest of imps at the Three Z’s. Six galvanades and an iron giant shouldn’t have materialized in the street, attracted by the sounds and smells of a fight.

But there they were, and Prompto was sorely regretting his and Gladio’s decision to make the salvage run on their own. They’d tag-teamed it and taken down the iron giant, swiping away imps the whole time, then turned to dispatch the exploding galvanades one by one.

The yojimbo wandered out of its haunt at the gas station and onto the street before Prompto spotted it, but he turned, diving away from a swooping thunder bomb and redirecting his shots. The daemon staggered and fell, and Prompto heard Gladio bellow his name a split second before a thunderous explosion split the air. He felt pain, and then nothing.

He hadn’t been here in a long time. 

He was stronger than when they’d left Gralea all those years ago, when the Crystal was still within reach and they thought Noct would only be gone for a few days. That felt like another life, when he’d had the strength to hope instead of saying things he didn’t feel were true and trying to lower his expectations so that the disappointments didn’t hurt so much.

Bahamut hovered over him as always, watchful and silent, but Prompto didn’t even look at him. And maybe that was for the better after what happened last time. He caught something in the corner of his field of vision, and he turned to look.

The air was suddenly too bright.

A figure, clad entirely in black and curled in on itself floated in front of him. The dark hair was longer, the shoulders were broader, but before Prompto even made out the face beneath the scruffy beard, he knew.

"Noct?" Prompto whispered. 

Noct didn't move.

Prompto reached out, fully expecting his hand to pass through empty air.  
  
It didn’t.  
  
Noct’s hair was soft against his calloused, gun-burnt fingers. Prompto froze there for a second, shocked that he could feel the warmth from Noct’s skin radiating into his fingertips.  
  
Prompto could see his shoulders moving up and down with his breath and his brow furrowing at the disturbance.  
  
He was alive. He was... sleeping.  
  
The air around Prompto began to rumble, shaking with sound so deep that Prompto could feel it in his belly.  
  
**_“It won’t be long now.”_ **  
  
Bahamut shifted from his position for the first time since Prompto had seen him. Prompto looked up to see the enormity of his giant form moving to look Prompto in the face.  
  
Tendrils of reddish light wrapped out Prompto’s arms. A phoenix down, pulling him back into the land of the living.  
  
**_“Soon the Chosen will take his place among the Stars.”_ **

Prompto was back with a gasp.  
  
There was Gladio, hovering over him, swearing. “You okay?”  
  
He blinked, gulping in the bitter air, and touched his chest. His shirt was scorched, but no wounds. Gladio seemed to take that as an affirmative response and dropped down into the dirt next to him, his greatsword dissolving in a flash of blue.

Prompto winced as the sensation of flesh burning tore across his skin, but he knew from experience the feeling would fade in the next few minutes as the effects of the phoenix feather wore off. He sat up. “Shouldn’t we--”

“That was the last one.”  
  
Prompto stopped short, digesting that. The last phoenix down. He hadn’t even known there were any left.  
  
“Guess we stay dead from now on,” Gladio said.  
  
“Guess we gotta stay alive,” Prompto corrected, pushing himself up to his knees.  
  
Gladio snorted, “Yeah, tell that to yourself.”  
  
“You know me. I like living life on the edge.”  
  
“Well, don’t. You gotta last at least until Noct gets back.” Gladio's scowl softened, and he shoved Prompto back down with a good-natured smirk and looked away. “After that, live on all the edges you want to. Or off, I don’t care.”  
  
“Wow thanks, big guy. Really feeling the love.”  
  
For a moment, they both just sat there in the dark, daemons roaring around them, the Scourge probably slowly seeping into their veins by osmosis.  
  
“I saw Noct.”  
  
Gladio’s head jerked towards him, eyes narrowed. “What?”  
  
“I saw him. Noct. Before the phoenix down kicked in.”  
  
“What do you mean you saw him?”  
  
Gladio’s scrutinizing stare was a little uncomfortable, but Prompto was too puzzled to look away. “Y’know. In that place. The Grey Place. Where you float around and the Astrals ignore you before the phoenix down brings you back?”  
  
Gladio looked like he had no idea what Prompto was talking about, so Prompto barreled on before Gladio could cut him off. “He was there. Noct was. He was... sleeping I think. I didn’t see him last time, but he was there this time and actually there because I could touch him, and—”  
  
“Wait. You saw— you touched Noct?”  
  
“Yeah,” Prompto cleared his throat. “While I was dead.”  
  
“While you were dead,” Gladio repeated. “How is that— how was he?”  
  
“Fine. He looked like he was fine. Just, uh... napping. Bahamut said it wouldn’t be long now.”  
  
“Bahamut?”  
  
“Uh, yeah. He was there, too. I mean, he’s always there, but this time he talked to me. I’m kinda surprised about that actually, after the last time, ‘cause I told him to fuck off—”  
  
“You told Bahamut to fuck off?” Gladio was staring at him in disbelief.

Prompto squirmed uncomfortably. “Uh, kinda. Yes. I was— I was in a bad mood.”  
  
Gladio threw his head back and let out a deep belly laugh. It was a raspy sound, rusty from lack of use, but genuine. Prompto hadn’t heard it in so long, he felt as if he might be hearing some weird echo of another life. A grin formed on his lips, unbidden and unstoppable.  
  
Gladio slapped his back. “Good. Wish I coulda joined you.”  
  
“Sorry, man. That was the last phoenix down.”  
  
“Yeah, and I don’t die as easy as you.”  
  
“Rude.”  
  
Gladio chuckled again, then looked at him straight on. “So you saw Noct?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“And he’s fine?”  
  
“Sleeping like a baby.”  
  
Gladio snorted again. “I’m gonna kick his ass. Did he say how soon?”  
  
“How soon he’s coming back? Uh, no. He wasn’t specific.”  
  
“You told him to fuck off,” Gladio muttered, voice strangled with mirth.  
  
“Yup.” Prompto wasn’t going to live this down.  
  
Gladio let out another laugh and stood up, offering Prompto a hand up. “Well in that case,” he said, pulling him up off the ground. “Let’s go before Bahamut changes his mind and decides to smite you right here.”

**eight, nine.**

  
They had phoenix downs again. Noct had been carrying three in his pockets when he’d been sucked into the Crystal, for all the good it did him. In the three days that they had stayed in Hammerhead, Noct had used any magic he could spare to craft all the potions and elixirs he could. If the reports from the Crown City were correct (and they were, Prompto knew they were, because he’d seen Insomnia for himself), then they would need all the curatives they could get.  
  
It had worn him out, but he hadn’t spoken a single word of complaint. He hadn’t taken any naps either. Prompto joked that it was because he’d finally gotten enough rest after ten years of sleep, but he knew it was because Noctis had only a few days left and was trying to soak in everything while he still could. The thought left a sharp ache in his chest and a sour taste in his mouth so he never breathed a word of it because he knew he’d break down if he did.  
  
_“You guys... are the best.”_  
  
The words made him sick, because he knew they were goodbye. Even now, lying in the tent beside the others, he felt his gut twisting inside him like he was gonna throw up.  
  
Everyone else was quiet, but no one was sleeping. There was no sound of Gladio snoring, no soft huff from Noct that indicated he was out, Ignis was still stretched out, and not curled in on himself like he always was when he was dreaming.  
  
Of course not. How could they.  
  
Prompto shifted, then crawled to his feet, hunched so that he wouldn’t brush his hair on the top of the tent. He shuffled past Ignis and Noct, and stepped over Gladio, who met his eyes in the dark with a question in them.  
  
“Gotta pee,” Prompto answered and slipped out of the tent.  
  
The night air had stopped being refreshing after the sun went down for the last time. There was nothing fresh about it anymore— it was heavy and stagnant and still and reeked of death. Prompto hated it. But he would live with it for the rest of his life if that meant the sun didn’t have to rise.  
  
He crossed to the edge of the haven, his eyes falling on the bag underneath the camp stove that held all of the curatives, and a wild thought sprang into his mind. He stopped. Walked over. Knelt down.  
  
Slowly, silently, he opened the flap and reached inside. His hands met the soft fluff of a phoenix feather, and he pulled it out.  
  
Maybe Bahamut would listen now. He’d spoken to Prompto last time— maybe something had shifted? Maybe... maybe Prompto could talk him out of this. Maybe they could solve the problem without anyone else having to die.  
  
Well. Tomorrow, anyway.  
  
It would be easy enough. He’d administered phoenix downs on himself before. He’d just have to make sure the shot wasn’t instantly fatal so that he’d have the chance to use the down. Although he definitely would have to leave the safety of the haven so that the others wouldn’t know. If he was far enough away, he could explain away the gunshot. There was no way he wanted Noct to know what he was actually doing. Or Ignis and Gladio, for that matter.  
  
If they realized the phoenix down was missing— well, he’d deal with that later.  
  
He was already about twenty feet away from the haven when he realized what a stupid, pointless idea this was. Bahamut was never going to listen. He hadn’t before, and he wouldn’t now. Tomorrow was going to come whether he wanted it or not.  
  
He kept moving anyways. He had to try, didn’t he?  
  
It wasn’t until he was sitting on the ground with the barrel of his gun pressed into his ribcage, gripping the trigger with one shaking hand and the phoenix down with the other that he actually did stop.  
  
What the hell. Was he really doing this? What did he think this was going to change? All that would happen was that he’d waste a phoenix down, and Gladio would grumble and Ignis would figure it out and Noct would be puzzled and he’d be trying to pretend he didn’t know what happened.  
  
The gun slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground, and he lifted badly trembling fingers to clutch the front of his shirt. His breaths were too shallow, too fast, and his vision was spotty. He squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head into his knees to muffle the sounds of the sobs trying to wrench free from his throat. Tried to push the fact that he’d almost just fucking killed himself out of his mind.  
  
Prompto didn’t know how long it was before he could breathe properly again, but eventually he picked up his gun, wiped off his face, and headed back to camp. As quietly as he could, he slipped the phoenix down back into the bag under the camp stove, returned his gun to the Armiger, and went back inside the tent.  
  
He’d been gone a while.  
  
“All good?” Gladio said.  
  
“Yep,” Prompto answered. He lay down again and tried not to think about how he would probably regret not killing himself for the rest of his life.  
  
He didn’t sleep.

Noct handed out the phoenix downs the next morning. One to Gladio, one to Ignis, one to him.  
  
Noct didn’t carry one. He wouldn’t need it.  
  
Prompto took his in silence and stuffed it into his right pocket, where he could ignore its presence until he needed to use it. He took the potions and elixirs Noct handed him too, stowing them away in his pockets and on his belt. He didn’t even want to look at them.  
  
Ignis used his phoenix down on Noctis, when a blow from Ifrit blindsided him and nearly tore him in two.  
  
Gladio used his on Ignis, much later, after Noct had already walked up the Citadel steps to face his ancestors.  
  
Prompto didn’t use his.  
  
It sat out of sight, burning a hole in his pocket as he walked up the Citadel steps in the blinding light of the sunrise, following Ignis and Gladio to the throne room to see Noct.  
  
Phoenix downs needed to be administered within sixty seconds of heart failure. Any time past that, and the magic would fail.  
  
When they got to the throne room, Noct was already growing cold.

  
**ten.**

Three years after Dawn, Prompto still carried the phoenix feather in his right pocket. He didn’t need it anymore, but it wasn’t the sort of thing you just threw away. It was a vestige of old magic, one of the last traces of a time before the Long Night, when the kings of Lucis wielded magic to protect their people and chocobos weren’t extinct.  
  
And besides, it would probably come in handy one day.  
  
He probably should hand it over to the hospital. He didn’t know why he hadn’t already. He didn’t know why he couldn’t bear to take it out of his pocket.  
  
He didn’t know why he thought about it so often.  
  
Noct was supposedly an Astral now. He had worshipers and religious rites and a whole three-day festival, the whole nine yards, but the thought of lumping Noct in with the celestial assholes that had destroyed Eos and murdered their chosen king made Prompto sick.  
  
But then he thought about the phoenix down and he thought about Bahamut and he wondered what would happen if he needed to use the feather. He wondered if he’d see Noct’s face in those few precious seconds before the phoenix down ripped him back from the astral plane and returned him to waking life.  
  
He thought about it sometimes, when pouring his morning coffee. Sometimes he thought about it mid-conversation and he’d have to push it away. Then he wouldn’t think about for weeks and it would suddenly cross his mind again when he jogged across an intersection just fast enough to beat oncoming traffic.  
  
Prompto didn’t want to die. Thoughts like this hadn't plagued him for a long time. If it weren’t for the phoenix down, he probably wouldn’t even be entertaining this idea.  
  
It scared him.  
  
Prompto realized then, that the last phoenix feather on Eos was a very bad thing for him to have.  
  
  
“Prompto?” Ignis had opened the door of his apartment within seconds of Prompto knocking and announcing himself into the microphone that was wired to a speaker inside.  
  
A mixture of appreciation and relief washed over Prompto at the sight of him standing in the doorway. Regardless of how many responsibilities Ignis had now in New Lucis, he always dropped everything if he knew Prompto or Gladio needed him. “Hey, Iggy.”  
  
“What’s wrong?”  
  
Of course he already knew. Prompto hadn’t lied to Ignis successfully once in his entire life. He stood on the steps, fidgeting, words lodged like a stone in his throat.  
  
“Iggy,” he said finally, his voice sounding shaky and smaller than it ever had since he was a twenty-year-old boy carrying a gun much too heavy for him. “Iggy, I... I need help.”  
  
Ignis made him tea, and answered his skittery small-talk inquiries about work and cooking and the cat that he had adopted, and sat himself on the couch beside Prompto so that Prompto wouldn’t have to look directly at him when he was talking.  
  
He sipped from his mug and hummed and didn’t press until Prompto had run out of things to say and fell silent.  
  
Even then, he waited a moment before gently saying, “Was there something you wanted to discuss with me?”  
  
Prompto swallowed and played with the handle of his mug. “Yeah.”  
  
Prompto told him. He started hesitantly, unsure of how to put to voice memories he’d buried for long enough that they’d turned into impressions and feelings, but as he unraveled them, he spoke faster and faster until he could barely understand the words coming out of his own mouth.  
  
He started from the first, when he’d seen Bahamut’s face and nothing more. He told Ignis about deducing that he’d visited the astral plane. He recounted the time in Altissia and saw something click in the man’s expression when he said he’d never mentioned using the phoenix down. He told him about Zegnautus Keep, avoiding details, and watched Ignis’ face grow dark over the trauma that Prompto had distanced himself from to maintain his sanity. He told Ignis about leaving Gralea, and how he’d screamed into Bahamut’s uncaring eye with no regard to his life. He described seeing Noct in the Crystal even though Ignis already knew of that one.  
  
But then he told Ignis about the last night at camp, the stolen phoenix down and his gun, shaking in his hands.  
  
He told him about the last phoenix down, the one they’d never needed, the one burning a hole in his right pocket and making him have nightmares about a gunshot wound to the chest and Noct getting to live. He told Ignis about almost stopping in the street in front of a car moving too fast to stop.  
  
Somewhere in there, tears started to fill up his eyes and spill over, and the ache in his chest spread to his throat.  
  
“Guess that’s it,” he said, rather pathetically, when he was done.  
  
Ignis had gone still. He didn’t speak for a second, and Prompto suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable. He was thinking of how to escape when Ignis spoke.  
  
“Prompto,” he said. “I’m glad you told me.”  
  
His voice was quiet, but tinged with the pain of an old wound, never fully healed. There was an uncharacteristic bitterness on his face, old anger that seemed to rise with his words.“Nothing you or any of us could have done would have changed Noct’s fate. The Astrals would not have let Noct live, regardless of the sacrifices that you, or I, or Gladio were willing to make. I hope you know this.” Ignis reached for his shoulder and squeezed it. “None of what happened is your fault.”  
  
A strange sort of whine escaped Prompto’s throat and he convulsed with another soft whimper. Ignis’ arm wrapped around his shoulder, and he crumpled at the touch, folding into Ignis’ arms and weeping into his shirt. He wept for Noct. He wept for the future he hoped for that now would never come to pass. He wept for the horrors he’d bore witness to in the Long Night, and everyone he’d failed to save. He choked through the sobs and let the tears dampen his face and his shirt and let himself break into pieces. He wept until there was nothing left, and then he succumbed to silence.  
  
“Please don’t tell Gladio,” Prompto said when he could talk again. “I just... I had to tell someone. I... I don’t want anyone else to know.”  
  
“I won’t breathe a word,” Ignis said, and Prompto believed him.  
  
They fell into a lull again, the kind that Prompto didn’t want to break with things that he really didn’t need to say, and they sat for a while, until the sun threw afternoon rays onto the dining room table and the phone rang, reminding them both of how important Ignis was.

With a sigh, Ignis stood, but Prompto interrupted him before he could answer the call. “Ignis?”  
  
Ignis turned, face questioning, leaving the phone to ring. “Yes, Prompto?”  
  
Prompto hesitated, but only for a second. “Could you… could you hold onto the feather for me?”  
  
Ignis looked surprised, but only for a second. “Of course.”  
  
Prompto reached into his pocket and pulled out the yellow feather, disheveled from handling and age. He stared at it for a moment. “I just… don’t want to have it on me anymore. I can’t just get rid of it, but...”

“I understand. I’ll look after it for you.”

Prompto stood, fiddling with it between his fingers for a second. Then he took a deep breath and placed it into Ignis’ open palm and looked away. “Thanks, Iggy.”  
  
Ignis tucked the feather into his breast pocket. “Anytime.”  
  
Prompto stepped back into the streets of New Lucis, eyes still swollen but feeling lighter than he had in years.

  
Three weeks later, Prompto used the last phoenix down.  
  
The man had run out into the street to catch a light and hadn’t seen the truck coming his way, and amidst the gasps and the cries and the chaos, the thud of a body hitting the pavement was a sound Prompto hoped to never hear again.  
  
Ignis had been right by his side and had heard the collision, and from the look on his face, guessed what happened.  
  
Prompto grabbed his sleeve. “Iggy. Give me the feather.”  
  
Ignis scrambled for his pocket and pressed the feather into Prompto’s hands, and Prompto dove into the street pushing his way through the gathering crowd.  
  
Sixty seconds after the heart stops.  
  
Prompto made it at thirty-five. The man sat up with a jolt, wide-eyed and gasping, and Prompto slapped him on the back, well aware of the confusion and adrenaline rush he was feeling.  
  
“Are they all right?”  
  
Prompto looked up to see that Ignis had pushed his way through the crowd as well. He grinned. “Yeah. He’ll be fine.”  
  
Prompto’s jean knees had holes in them from his slide on the pavement. He discovered this after the commotion had died down and he and Ignis resumed their walk to the Capitol building.  
  
Ignis must have heard the hitch in his step, because he paused and turned his head. “Is something the matter?”  
  
Prompto looked up, seeing the concern furrowing Ignis’s brow. He said nothing else, but his hand twitched upward toward his breast pocket. The question he meant was something entirely different.  
  
He put a hand on Ignis’s shoulder just in case he couldn’t hear the smile on his face and answered that question instead. “Nah. I’m good.”

He meant it.


End file.
